


Our Little Remedy

by reason_says



Category: Pro Wrestling NOAH, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Caretaking, Character Study, Established Relationship, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Post-Match, Rimming, Tactile, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reason_says/pseuds/reason_says
Summary: The Takeover have just tagged together for the first time... and they lost. While Kenta gets in his own head about it, Shibata decides to take care of him.
Relationships: Hideo Itami | KENTA/Shibata Katsuyori
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12
Collections: Ass Eating Day





	Our Little Remedy

That could have gone better.

No grand exit for the Takeover. Shibata had been at Kenta’s side from the second Morishima rolled off of him, cradling his head off the mat until he was lucid enough to stand up. Even then, he took a moment to rest against the ropes, their hands touching softly as he took in the cheers that should have been for them.

They were so close. He was so close. His first heavyweight title was almost in his grasp, and… Almost isn’t good enough, and there’s no point dwelling on the lost opportunity. No point…

Kenta slams his fist into the wall as soon as they pass through the curtain. Sure, there’s no point, but he’s not so disciplined he can ignore the frustration.

Shibata’s hands are on his before he can register that he’s not being propped up anymore, lacing their fingers for a moment, and Kenta understands.

“I know. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Let’s just get changed.”

The locker room is curiously empty, no one milling around killing time as usual, and it takes Kenta a minute to realize why. Of course, they’ll be watching the next match to see if the company will have a new champion. He wonders if anyone was watching their match, but decides he doesn’t want to know the answer. At least Morishima and Yone will be in the other locker room when they’re done celebrating; one thing the Budokan has going for it. He’s thinking too much when he should be changing, but every part of him feels weighted down.

It’s not even that he hurts, he protests as Shibata guides him to a bench and makes him sit down. He always hurts, he’s used to it. He’s just… disappointed.

“I really wanted to win.”

It’s a useless statement. Of course he wanted to win, who wants to lose? But Shibata nods as if he knows what he means. “It would have been nice, winning together. Holding the titles together.”

“Heavyweight titles, too. A chance to really show what I can do.”

“You’re already the junior champion,” Shibata reminds him. “Everyone knows what you can do.”

“No, they don’t! They know what I’ve done. That’s not the same at all.”

Shibata nods again. “I know. You’re right. One fight at a time, right? Every time they see you, you show them more.”

“It would be nice to skip a few steps, though.” Kenta grins, looking up at Shibata through the fringe of his hair. His partner stands in front of him, his hair plastered to his forehead and his chest heaving, and Kenta realizes abruptly how selfish he’s being. This was Shibata’s Noah debut, after all Kenta’s machinations to bring him in, and he lost too. He wasn’t pinned, but he still lost. How must that feel?

“We’ll try again!” He stands up more quickly than his back would prefer, clenching his hands into fists in a combination of determination and distraction from the ache. “I’ll ask again. We can try for the titles, or an exhibition match. I’m not letting this be a waste!”

“Hey, hey. Calm down.” Shibata’s grinning now, which is good, it means he isn’t focusing on the loss. “It can wait. Let’s calm down first, and talk to them tomorrow.”

“You’re so boring,” Kenta complains, but he knows Shibata isn’t wrong. “I’ll wait until the show’s over, at least. They’ll be distracted otherwise.” Rolling his shoulders, he heads to his locker. “I know I’m overreacting. I just really did want to win with you. Not to mention, it would have been nice to beat Morishima, you know? That overhyped--”

“You will.” Shibata’s voice is suddenly far too close, and when Kenta turns around he’s standing too close as well, staring at him with a serious expression Kenta has rarely seen. “You’ll beat him, and everyone will see you.”

“But not today.”

“No, not today.” The intense façade cracks into another grin. “You were great, though. Listen. Look at me.” He corners Kenta against the bank of lockers, standing so near Kenta can feel his breath on his face. “Even if we lost, you think you didn’t make an impression? You’re not even a heavyweight, and that’s not an insult. A junior heavyweight lasted almost half an hour in a heavyweight title match. They’ll notice.”

They’re so close, and now Shibata’s grin fades into a soft smile, his thumb brushing the waistband of Kenta’s trunks. It would be stupid to kiss him, but on the other hand, it would cheer him up after an embarrassing loss. While Kenta’s still trying to hold still, to keep his stomach muscles from twitching in response to the contact, Shibata makes his decision for him. He pulls away, his lips still faintly quirked, and pulls Kenta back over to the bench they’d started from, where he presses him to sit again.

“Let me take care of you,” he says in response to Kenta’s incredulous look.

“I’m not a--”

“I know you’re not a child, dammit. You’re my friend, and I want to make sure you’re all right after that. And make you feel better if you’re not.”

“I’ll tell you what’ll make me feel better,” Kenta mutters, too low for Shibata to hear - although he should have known better than to assume that, from Shibata’s quirked eyebrow. Luckily, the other man doesn’t follow through.

Instead, he kneels in front of Kenta, casually nudging his knees apart to get closer, and takes his hand. At first it seems as though that’s all he wants, but then he finds the edge of Kenta’s wrist tape and begins unwrapping it. Loop after loop frays away in his hands, and when one wrist is clear, he rubs the exposed skin before moving to the other.

“If you’re not careful, I’ll get used to this,” Kenta mumbles, and Shibata grins quickly before returning to his self-appointed task. Once both of Kenta’s wrists are free of tape, though, he doesn’t move on to anything else. He rubs Kenta’s wrists again to clear them of any residue, but then he simply stays. Kneeling, and running his fingers over Kenta’s pulse point.

If this is all ‘taking care of him’ means, Kenta supposes he can’t complain. It’s oddly soothing.

The door clatters open. Kenta can feel Shibata’s tension in the strain on his hand, but he doesn’t stand up, so Kenta doesn’t move either. Kanemaru looks at them blankly for a moment before heading to a locker in the far corner of the room and retrieving a shirt from it.

“You two OK?”

What business is it of yours? Kenta doesn’t say, because Shibata squeezes his hand to keep him quiet.

“Just making sure he’s not concussed. We’ll leave soon.”

Kanemaru nods, seemingly accepting the excuse. “Good luck with that.” Pointing a thumb over his shoulder, he grins awkwardly. “The match just ended. Taue won, so it’ll be getting loud pretty soon. You might want to hurry if you don’t want people jostling you, but I’m not your boss.” He leaves without a salutation, which is just fine.

Have they really been here that long, just watching each other? Or has the match ended more decisively than anyone predicted? Kenta should have an opinion on the title changing hands, he’s sure, but as soon as Kanemaru turned to leave Shibata had gone back to tracing his fingers over the palm of Kenta’s hand, and that’s more interesting right now.

“We might want to hurry,” he reminds Shibata, “if we don’t want people jostling us.” They both laugh, breaking the tension. What did Kanemaru mean, jostling?

“Back to yours, then? You can show me what would ‘make you feel better’.”

“Oh, I was-- I didn’t have anything specific in mind.”

“I see.” Shibata uses Kenta’s thighs to brace himself as he stands. “Well, I have something specific in mind, but we definitely need to be alone.”

\------

Freshly showered, and safely out of the arena without getting caught up in anyone else’s celebration, they return to Kenta’s apartment. Bypassing the front room entirely, Kenta is sprawled on the bed almost as soon as he’s toed off his shoes. Digging his shoulders into the mattress, he stretches out until the ache in his back dissipates. It’ll return, he knows, but he’ll take what comfort he can steal.

“Are we alone enough for you to tell me, now?” Shibata had refused to even hint at his idea on the way over, which means it’s something he can’t figure out a safe euphemism for. That’s increasingly uncommon, and makes Kenta even more curious.

“Hm, that’s a good question. Can you do me a favor, first?” He’s hesitating at the foot of the bed, entirely too far away, and Kenta nods almost without hearing the question. “Can you put your trunks back on?”

“What?”

“Your trunks.” He gestures to their gear bags, discarded near the doorway. “Can you put them back on?”

“I just showered. Why would I put my used trunks back on?”

“Indulge me.”

This is going to be something perverted, Kenta can tell. Shibata is always at his vaguest when he’s about to suggest something he gets embarrassed to put into words, but Kenta reaps the benefits eventually, so it’s worth playing along until he finds a way to be specific. Getting re-dressed in his gear is new, though, and he can’t help but roll his eyes a little as he shimmies out of his jeans and digs through his bag.

“Oh-- can I keep my underpants on, or do you just want the trunks?”

Shibata nods like Kenta has passed a secret test of some sort. What the fuck. “Just the trunks, thank you.”

He takes his socks off while he’s at it, because there’s no sense ruining the look, and pulls the trunks on. This could be worse. They were clean before the match, obviously, and they’re comfortable. Not quite as snug now as when he’s wearing underpants, and he finds himself focusing on the sensation of the cotton on his skin as he walks back to Shibata.

“Anything else?” He gestures with his arms out, displaying himself like a model, but he can’t hold the pose for more than a second before chuckling. “What’s this about? You’ve seen me wearing them before.”

Shibata shrugs one shoulder, a faintly embarrassed look on his face. “This is different.” He steps closer, backing Kenta against the bed the way he’d backed him against the lockers, but there’s nothing solid for him to lean against this time. “I’ve seen them, but I’ve never fought alongside you before. It’s different, looking at you from the apron.” One hand to Kenta’s waistband, once more mirroring his earlier actions, and as their faces nearly touch he lowers his voice. “Do you know how good your ass looks in these trunks? It’s a distraction.”

Kenta wants to laugh, but he also wants to arch into Shibata’s touch and not say anything for the rest of the night. He settles for humming under his breath, and wraps his arms around Shibata to draw him closer. Shibata still hasn’t undressed, which doesn’t seem fair, but his worn t-shirt is soft against Kenta’s skin in a way his chest hair wouldn’t be. He’s willing to make that temporary trade-off.

“Watching you from the audience,” Shibata continues, “or even when we’re training…” He trails off, leaning down to press a kiss to Kenta’s neck, and now the hand not on his hip is behind his back, holding him close. “It’s nothing compared to being in the ring with you. You’re quick, and clever, and… ridiculously hot. I could have fought with you forever.”

His mouth is still at Kenta’s neck, his breath warm on his skin, and it isn’t enough. Kenta can’t pull back without falling onto the bed, so he pushes Shibata back a step and tugs at the collar of his shirt until their mouths meet.

It’s been a long night. Other nights are for getting drunk and telling jokes, but after teaming for the first time - even unsuccessfully - all he wants is to be wrapped up in this man. It’s a sappy thought, but he hasn’t said it out loud, so it’s fine. Shibata’s hands are at his hips now, tracing the line of his waistband, tickling against his sides as they move over the fabric, and Kenta huffs an involuntary laugh against Shibata’s mouth.

“Let’s at least get back on the bed, OK?” he murmurs, then reconsiders. “Unless you _want_ to fuck me standing up.”

Shibata nods, bumping his head against Kenta’s in the process. “I wouldn’t mind trying, but it wasn’t the plan.”

Kenta rolls his eyes and sits on the bed, pulling Shibata after him.

\------

“Are you ever going to _tell_ me this plan of yours?”

“I’m showing you, aren’t I? You can be a little patient.”

Kenta absolutely cannot be a little patient, but he can fake it. Shibata hadn’t stopped running his hands over his trunks, even as they returned to kissing, but he’s stuck to the sides or the bunching of the waistband - completely avoiding anywhere Kenta would prefer him to touch.

“It’s just soft,” Shibata says when asked what exactly he thinks he’s doing. “The cloth, your skin under it… it feels nice.” And truthfully, Kenta isn’t complaining about having Shibata’s hands on him in any context. Shibata is still fully dressed, but that means Kenta can push his shirt up in the back, drag his hands over Shibata’s obliques, and feel like he’s getting away with something, so that’s not so bad either. And through it all, Shibata keeps kissing him, occasionally moving to his jaw or neck but never for long, and when Kenta finally feels Shibata’s hand creep under the bottom edge of his trunks he groans before he realizes he’s opened his mouth.

“Yeah?” Shibata grins against his throat, his chuckle vibrating through Kenta’s skin.

“Yeah.”

It starts to feel a little ridiculous to keep kissing as though he could possibly be distracted from the feeling of Shibata’s hand brushing over the hair on his thighs, except maybe by that same hand on his dick. But lying beneath his partner, one knee crooked as if prepared to kick out of a pin, the strange peaceful feeling almost overwhelms how turned on he is. Almost.

Abruptly, that weight over him is gone, Shibata pulling away to kneel on the bed, and it takes Kenta a few moments of blinking to regain his bearings. “Where are you going? You were finally getting to the point.”

Shibata barks a laugh, shaking his head. He stands up, stretches for a moment, and kneels back on the bed - but near Kenta’s feet this time, too far away to reach even when Kenta stretches out a grasping hand.

“That wasn’t the point. It was nice, but it wasn’t the point.”

“Ka--!”

Kenta’s indignation stammers to a halt as Shibata bends down and runs his tongue over the front panel of his trunks. They weren’t made to be worn with nothing underneath to keep him tucked in place, and the fabric has enough give that his erection is obvious - obvious enough, apparently, for Shibata to outline it with his tongue even with his eyes closed. It’s all Kenta can do to clutch the duvet instead of Shibata’s hair, to control his breathing instead of bucking up against Shibata’s mouth. He’s done that one too many times, and the resulting swat isn’t the kind he’d prefer to receive. Shibata continues, dragging his tongue over the length of Kenta’s cock through the velour, and if it weren’t so hot Kenta would have to wonder what exactly Shibata was getting out of it aside from a mouthful of cloth. It’s not worth asking, though, because Shibata groans aloud, louder than Kenta has allowed himself, and his breath is hot on Kenta’s skin even through the trunks and his hand is digging into Kenta’s thigh and he’s clearly enjoying this, possibly as much as Kenta is.

His trunks are thoroughly damp in front by the time Shibata pulls back, leaving both of them panting. The sudden lack of contact is like a cold shock in comparison, and he’s no closer to figuring out what ‘the point’ is, in Shibata’s mind, if that wasn’t it. When Shibata nudges him to turn on his side, then onto his stomach, he moves willingly, readjusting himself on the bed so he doesn’t fall off, but when he reaches for his trunks, Shibata pushes his hand away.

“Not yet. Soon, I promise.”

“You’d better promise,” he mutters, a twinge of real annoyance running through him. “You haven’t even let me touch you, and you won’t tell me what you’re planning. I need some idea, I don’t want to… to just _react_ all night.”

“You’re right.” He hears Shibata stand up behind him, then circle around to the side of the bed until he can sit and face Kenta. “I don’t need you to touch me. I want to take care of you. Remember? I said I’d take care of you, and I’m trying to. Can you let me do that?”

“Sure, I can try.” Kenta folds his arms under his chin, since they’re apparently having a conversation now. “But you keep saying you have a plan, and a point, and I want to know what it is. It’s not as fun if I can’t anticipate your next step.”

Shibata laughs, nodding his head minutely. “I see what you mean. It’s hard to put into words, though.”

That piques Kenta’s interest. “You can make a plan but you can’t say it? Is it that bad?”

There’s a long moment of silence, during which Shibata rolls his eyes and Kenta tries to adjust his position so his erection isn’t wedged uncomfortably between himself and the duvet.

“Do you remember… no, never mind that. What I mean is…”

This is ridiculous. “What could it be, that’s so hard to spit out? You can be clinical about it, I won’t mind. Or pretend you’re giving a promo.”

Shibata looks down with a sheepish expression, then nods to himself. “I want to use my mouth. On… on you, down there.” He looks like he’s trying to keep himself from saying anything else, but after a moment, he adds, “If that’s all right, obviously. I would have asked when I got to that point, but since we’re talking now, I’m asking now.”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots, because Shibata _had_ been using his mouth. Then the reason he’s lying on his stomach dawns on him, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “You could have said that from the start,” he teases. “I would have said yes, if you’d asked me that adorably.”

Shibata groans, but leans forward to kiss Kenta’s nose before standing up. Ridiculous. How can he be so vicious in the ring and so cute outside it? And he’d remembered a conversation Kenta had all but forgotten, thought about it on his own, and come back to the subject. That he’d apparently wanted to surprise Kenta with a tongue up his ass is so perfectly and ludicrously Shibata that he can’t even laugh, but at least - and there’s his partner settling back on the bed behind him - they’re on the same page now.

Despite Shibata’s earlier admonition, Kenta half expects him to pull the trunks down now that he’s made his intentions clear. And indeed, Shibata traces his hands up Kenta’s thighs with a very obvious goal in mind. But rather than reaching for the waistband, he stops and sinks his fingers into the curve of Kenta’s cheeks, kneading lightly at the firm muscle.

“See,” Kenta mumbles, his head still resting on his folded arms, “if you’d done this before, I’d be impatient. But you gave me a goal, so now I can look forward to it. Funny how that works.”

“Funny,” Shibata agrees, and the next thing Kenta feels is a blunt scraping sensation through the cloth. Again, sharper this time, and he realizes Shibata has actually bitten him. Suddenly breathless, he sinks his own teeth into his hand and arches his back to give Shibata a better angle. The gentle massage hasn’t stopped, setting his nerve endings on fire, and when Shibata bites him again, Kenta can’t keep his mouth shut.

“Please,” he whispers, straining his voice to keep it steady. “You can…”

“Patience,” Shibata reminds him. “Lift your hips up.”

He does so and Shibata finally, blessedly, slides his trunks off. Down over the curve of his ass, caught for a moment on his cock before he wiggles his hips a little, then down his legs, brushing against his leg hair in ways he’d never noticed before and hopefully won’t remember the next time he dresses for a match. Then they’re off, and Shibata’s hands are on him again. With his thumbs he rubs circles into the creases of Kenta’s thighs, mirroring his own motions, slowly moving upwards and spreading Kenta’s cheeks apart in the process. When he leans in, Kenta feels his breath and jolts - is he really starting so abruptly, after all this? - but Shibata scrapes his teeth over Kenta’s skin again. And again. The sensation is so thrilling that Kenta only distractedly notices when Shibata runs a finger from the base of his spine down to his balls, then back up. Almost there, all he has to do is--

And then Shibata pulls away.

“I’ll be right back,” he assures Kenta, patting his side as he stands, and true to his word, he returns in seconds. There’s a faint click at the edge of hearing, but Kenta doesn’t register it until he feels a trickle of lube dripping down his crack, Shibata’s fingers chasing it to spread it around. No more teasing, he presses a finger in, and Kenta feels more than hears the noise he makes as a result, a low groan that reverberates through the hand he’s shoved into his mouth to keep himself quiet.

Something this simple shouldn’t be affecting him this strongly. It’s all Shibata’s fault, he’d kept _touching_ him until every centimeter of his body felt like it could catch flame, and now as he pushes just one finger deeper inside it’s all Kenta can do not to writhe on the bed. He almost wants to admit defeat, to beg Shibata to fuck him and never mind the rest, but anything, anything is enough right now. He shifts minutely, his cock hard and awkwardly positioned between his body and the scratchy duvet, and for a moment he wishes his trunks were beneath him instead, so he could feel what Shibata had felt. Never mind that it would probably ruin them, he can get more made. One or both of them would have to leave the bed for that, though.

“Just a minute, just… one. Hold on.” He gestures behind his back and Shibata moves away, drawing his finger slowly out as he goes, as if deliberately making Kenta regret asking. “I’m not comfortable like this,” Kenta explains. “Just a minute.”

When he’s repositioned himself on his knees, with his head once again pillowed on his forearms, he nods to himself. “That’ll be better, I think. For both of us.”

“You’re right,” Shibata admits, and that’s all he says before gripping Kenta’s ass again and running his tongue over his hole. Kenta’s breath leaves him in a rush, his knees weak, and he barely gathers his wits together to whisper “Yes.” Yes, finally, always. Shibata’s mouth on him is worth - is better because of - everything that had led up to it, every delay making him more sensitive and eager and impatient.

“OK?”

“Yes, definitely OK, I’ll tell you if it’s not. Promise.”

That answer must satisfy Shibata, because he returns to the task at hand - at mouth? - and Kenta bites his hand to keep from alarming his neighbors. He’s enjoyed this before, but never with Shibata, and he’d been content to brush it aside, but now… Shibata slides a finger back in and runs his tongue around the edge and it’s absurd how good it is, it’s nothing Kenta can put into coherent thoughts. It’s not that it’s overwhelming, but it’s nothing he could replicate himself, and Shibata’s unquestioning willingness is as hot as his breath on Kenta’s skin.

Shibata takes his time; not exactly tentative, but careful. Even as he continues stretching Kenta out, one finger and then two, he keeps his tongue moving - quick, sharp laps at Kenta’s hole alternated with more lingering strokes, so that Kenta can never quite get into a complacent groove. Which means that when Shibata licks all the way up from his balls and presses his tongue _inside_ Kenta, there was no preparing for it.

His head falls to the bed as he reflexively reaches out to clutch the edge, anything to keep his knees from buckling, and he feels Shibata curl an arm around his legs to keep him steady. Calm breaths, even breaths, muffling his vocalizations without even meaning to, as the most sensitive part of his body is teased and tormented.

Shibata doesn’t let up, only pulling back occasionally to add more lube - or, once, saliva, which is something Kenta vows to keep in mind - but otherwise unrelenting in his focus. How is he possibly so good at this, has he been practicing? If he’s been watching videos, it’s actually a little hurtful, because they could have watched them together. But then, he supposes, this wouldn’t have been as effective a surprise. He might have been prepared for the way Shibata stretches him open with two fingers and thrusts his tongue between them, might be able to catch his breath when Shibata reaches down to grasp his cock.

Even with the lube on Shibata’s hand it’s rough and unsteady, clearly not the focus of his partner’s attention, but it’s more than enough when he’s been on the edge for what feels like hours. Between Shibata’s mouth and hands, he’s reduced to pure reaction, impulse and nerve endings and before he knows it he’s coming, his hips bucking as he spills onto the bed and Shibata once again wraps an arm around his legs, trembling with the effort of keeping him from collapsing.

When his breath returns, he finds himself lying on his side with Shibata sitting next to him, keeping gentle contact.

“Do you feel better now?”

Startled, Kenta bursts into laughter. “Yes, much better thank you. That’s the medicine I needed.” After a moment a thought occurs to him. He reaches for the fly of Shibata’s jeans, his fingers clumsy but determined, and he’s taken aback when Shibata takes his hand instead. “It’s fine, you don’t need to worry.”

Kenta blinks. Well, all right, he supposes. He’ll just return the favor at some point. For now he’s content to sit with Shibata rubbing his side, then his back when he sits up. When his head has cleared somewhat, Shibata opens his mouth once more, but Kenta cuts him off, pointing a stern finger at him. “I’m not kissing you. Go brush your teeth.”

“I wasn’t about to ask that!” Shibata protests, and though he’s laughing, he doesn’t elaborate as he struggles to his feet and heads unsteadily towards the bathroom. If he didn’t already have a toothbrush here, Kenta would have at least made him gargle.

While he’s gone, Kenta busies himself changing the duvet, which might also be an excuse to make sure he can still walk. This much kneeling after a tough match has led to his muscles locking up before, and that’s the last thing he needs heading into an attempt to rehabilitate his and Shibata’s image. Because if there’s one thing he’s certain of, it’s that he wants to tag with this man again.

‘Soulmate’ is an easy word to say, but a hard one to mean. It’s not in Kenta’s nature to get sappy, or to reflect on the deeper nature of his relationships - that’s a waste of time when he has goals to pursue. But when he and Shibata share goals, and have uncannily similar ideas of how to achieve them, it’s harder to keep those emotions separate.

Shibata reemerges at last, wearing only his t-shirt, and kneels to dig through his bag. When he pulls out a new pair of underpants Kenta raises a curious eyebrow, and he has the nerve to look self-conscious as he puts them on.

“I, er. I came in the last pair, so it’s a good thing I-- you don’t have to look so smug!”

“Don’t I? It’s flattering, isn’t it?”

“I don’t see how,” Shibata grouses. “You didn’t even touch me.”

“That means you had such a good time eating me out that I didn’t  _ need _ to touch you, which is flattering. I’m not making fun of you.”

“I’m making fun of myself, a little.” Palming the back of his neck, Shibata looks at the ground. “I have to say, I didn’t expect to like it  _ that _ much. I was curious, but…”

“I know you weren’t sure, which is why I didn’t bring it up again. I didn’t expect you to do your own research! You did, right? That was too good to be improvising.”

Now it’s Shibata’s turn to look smug, which Kenta supposes is his right. “I might have watched a few videos, yes.”

He  _ knew _ it. “Without me? That’s very rude of you.”

Shibata has no response, which Kenta takes as an invitation to kiss him. 

“Why now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Kenta gestures. “Why now? What made you want to do that, and specifically tonight? You said you had a plan, how long was this the plan?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks,” Shibata admits, as he returns to the bed and pulls Kenta down next to him. “Whether we won or lost, teaming with you was going to be a great experience. I knew that. So I thought… if we won, it could be a celebration. If we lost, it could be a consolation.”

It makes sense, in a perverted way. Is he perverting Shibata? Is that possible?

“Well, it was a good consolation. It was… very good. Well done.” Shibata shoves him, and he grins. “Would you ever let me do that to you?”

“Maybe. I hadn’t thought much about that. But… yes, maybe.”

Hm, that was too easy. What else can he suggest, that Shibata might have to research before agreeing to?

“Maybe we should go to a love hotel next time,” Shibata suggests offhandedly, and Kenta chokes on air.

“You? You’re really saying that?”

“It’s not such an outrageous suggestion, is it? I know there are places that would let us in.”

“You’re so inventive so suddenly, I really have brought out the worst in you.”

“Asshole.” Shibata bumps his leg against Kenta’s. “It’s just… I’d like to see how loud you are when you don’t have to worry about thin walls.”

Ah. Kenta takes a moment to contemplate that, and to fight down his blush. “What about you? Does that mean you think you wouldn’t be any louder?”

“I’m not sure,” Shibata admits. “I’ve never had the chance to find out.”

Oh, that’s a question that will stay with him until he finds the answer. “Well, now I definitely want to try. Let’s make a plan.”

Shibata grunts decisively. “Not until the morning, though.”

“Obviously.” Kenta rolls his eyes, but fondly. “Now move over, you wore me out.”

“You’re very chatty, for being worn out.” But Shibata shifts, turning his back to the wall so Kenta can scoot up next to him. A long moment of silence, in which Kenta smiles to himself in the dark, stretches out between them before he speaks again. “I’m glad to have tagged with you. I’d like to do it again.”

“Me too,” Kenta murmurs. “I want to talk to them about it. Tomorrow.”

“Before we make the love hotel plan?”

“Hm… maybe after.”


End file.
